


A Thousand Words

by Sealgirl



Category: Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealgirl/pseuds/Sealgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hastings has a new, messy hobby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Words

 

I was in the kitchen washing my hands and my brushes when Poirot arrived back form his luncheon appointment.

Because of the running water I didn’t hear the door click, or his measured footfalls across the hall. The first I knew of his presence in the apartment was a heartfelt and pained cry that emanated from the office.

I dropped the brush I was holding and bolted through. My friend was standing in the middle of the sitting room, his hands limply by his side and a stricken look on his face. Very slowly he lifted his gaze to look at me.

‘Hastings…’ he murmured.

I reassured him with a smile.

‘Sorry about the mess, Poirot,’ I said. ‘You were back sooner than I thought you’d be, so I haven’t finished clearing yet.’

‘ _Finished_ clearing?’ He waved his hand round the room. ‘You mean it was worse than this?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘It was much worse just after I’d finished the pictures. But I managed to get most of the paint off the table after only half an hour.’

Poirot made a gasping sort of noise and rushed to his table, bending over it to examine the lacquering.

‘Don’t worry, Poirot, I got it all off. And I put everything back the way it was as well.’

‘But… but what about the rest of this!’ he said, gesturing to the sofa and the coffee table that were still covered in my painting tools.

‘Well, as I said, you were back earlier than I thought and so…’

‘ _Non_ , Hastings!’ he cried. ‘All of the paint, the brushes, the empty canvas. Why are they _here_? Why have you left theme here? My house, it is not the studio for a painter!’

To be frank, I was more than a little disappointed that he didn’t remember.

‘I told you a few weeks ago, it’s for my evening class, and I needed somewhere to practice. You said I could use a little space.’

‘Hastings that was for your photography! And I said that you could store keep the excessive amount of developer that you purchased in my cupboard. I did not say that you could turn my office into a… a…’

‘Studio?’ I suggested.

He narrowed his eyes.

‘A _studio_ , that is correct, Hastings. I have no desire to have much apartment covered in black and red smudges, and smell of paint and the oil remover.’

‘It’s not that bad, you don’t notice the smell after a while.’

‘I will notice, Hastings. The nose of Poirot is highly sensitive. And who knows how this odour will affect the little grey cells. Already, they loose their composure in this… this…’

I almost said “studio” again, just to be helpful, but Poirot looked so upset that I said nothing. Instead, I went over to the bookcase and picked up one of the canvases that I had left out to dry on top of his ornaments.

This picture was the one I had been working on for most of the morning, and the one that I though Poirot would like the most. I held it out.

‘It’s still a bit wet,’ I told him.

‘It is very small for something that has caused such destructing to my office,’ he said caustically, looking at the back of the picture.

‘I didn’t want to do anything too big,’ I answered. ‘I thought you might like it.’

Poirot looked at me with a doubtful expression, then held out his hand. Bracing myself, I handed the painting over, and he stared at it with his mouth slightly open.

‘Well, yes I know it’s not really that good,’ I mumbled, ‘but I haven’t been doing this painting business for very long. And it’s a lot more difficult than I though it would be. And the class only cost ten bob so I thought I’d just give it a try and see what happened.’

‘Hastings,’ he murmured. ‘This is not what I expected. Not what I expected at all. This is… is…’

He looked up at me with a glowing smile on his rounded face.

‘Hastings, this is _magnifique_!’

‘Oh!’ I said, turning slightly red. ‘Oh. Do you really think so?’

‘But of course,’ replied Poirot, tilting it carefully towards the window so he could look at it more clearly. ‘It is a most beautiful painting. You have captured his personality perfectly.’

Tip-toeing around the paints and the easel, Poirot sat down behind his desk, and took out his glasses, clearly intent on an even closer examination of the painting.

I watched as he looked over the picture, feeling more pleased than I had done in a long time.

‘It is a fine likeness,’ he said at last. ‘And the good Chief Inspector will be most pleased to view it.’

‘You think so?’ I said in surprise. ‘I don’t see why he would be so interested in a picture of you.’

There was a moment of silence, and I was gratified to see that Poirot took my insight into Japp’s personality seriously. He stared at me.

‘You do not do a picture of Japp, himself?’ Poirot asked in a curious tone.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘I can’t really see Japp with a portrait of himself on the wall. Not like you.’

At that, Poirot looked back down at the picture, examining it with renewed vigour.

‘And what it really needs a good frame,’ I said. ‘I was just going to head out…’

Poirot jerked his head up, looking past me at something, so I turned and followed his gaze, seeing the mess that I had yet to put away. As I turned back, he peered at me from above his _pince-nez_.

‘I’ll clear this up first, then, shall I?’

‘Merci, Hastings,’ Poirot replied with a thin smile. ‘And while you do I shall consider where this painting shall reside.’

‘You’re going to put it on your wall?’ I asked in surprise. ‘I never thought you would like it that much.’

‘The wall? Yes, Hastings, I will put it on a wall… somewhere.’

‘So you _do_ like it?’ I asked.

‘ _Mais oui_! As I said before, it is _magnifique_.’

‘And you’ll keep it?’ I asked

‘Once it is appropriately framed, I shall find the place _parfait_ for it to hang.’

‘And so,’ I asked in a hopeful tone, ‘I can keep practising my painting here?’

The scowl returned.

‘ _NON!’_

And that was his final word.

= = =

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the LJ comm smallfandomflsh - prompt #3 Dirty and the LJ comm ff100 - prompt #33 Too Much. (May 2008)


End file.
